Veronica Graves
by TerriBerriify
Summary: Just a bunch of snippets about my OC set decades after the years of Harry Potter himself.
1. Elliot Graves

The sun was bright when she woke, glaring through the window and stinging her half-asleep eyes. With a groan, she rolled so her face was in the pillow. For a moment, there was a blissful peace - just the birds singing their morning chorus in hushed tones outside her bedroom window. Just as her eyes sagged, a voice shattered the peace.

"Nica? Come down and have soem breakfast."

The brunette growled, trudging down the stairs in her white and purple dressing gown, and slumped into one of the wooden dining chair.

Her father, a tall man with short blonde hair and a dashing smile, beamed at her with his pearly white teeth.

"Morning my sweet!"

"Daddy... why are you making pancakes... without magic?"

There was a silence as her father looked down at the frying pan in his hand, before flipping it haphazardly.

"I don't know darling. Maybe an influence of your mother?" The man shrugged, and continued to cook pancakes. A while later, their two plates were ladened with perfectly circlular pancakes smothered in all kinds of sweet and sour toppings (leading Veronica to assume that, in the end, her father had indeed used magic) and they began eating with their usual morning chatter.

"Nica, darling, you've been going down to Hogsmeade an awful lot as of late... and that broomstick you sent me was quite a shock you know."

"Daddy..." She sighed, "My name is _Veronica_. Everyone at school calls me Vero."

"But, darling, _Hogsmeade_..."

"I'm just hanging out with a few friends. That broomstick I bought was to help someone practice, besides, your old Bluebottle is going to give out one of these days."

Her father's violet eyes lit up, "Practice? There's a game on?"

"Hufflepuff versus Slytherin." Vero cleared her plate, now wide awake, "But Danny isn't very good, and he's a Chaser... so I was helping him out."

There was another moment of silence as the man waved his wand, the plates filing away into the sink to be washed. Her father tapped the table thoughtfully.

"...Maybe you could invite this... 'Danny'... round? Before the games, I mean. I could show him a few tricks."

Veronica smirked a little.

"Trust me, Dad, he's got talent, just doesn't know how to use it." She began to head up off the stairs, "And to be fair, I do believe 'Elliot Graves, the great Ravenclaw Chaser' is a _bit_ out of practice."

Elliot pulled a face, but a smirk played at his lips. Shrugging, he headed out into the garden - he hadn't gotten an O in Herbology for nothing.


	2. Monica Raine

Monica Raine, formerly Monica Graves, was slim, beautiful woman, with dark tanned skin and brown eyes. Her Chesnut brown hair was long, much unlike most modern french styles these days, with a slight natural wave. Her casual attire was suited more for formal dress, but being as rich as she was she needn't worry about the suitability of her clothes - she had maids to do all the work for her.

Monica was considered an icon in her neigbourhood, mainly because it was small and almost every household worked for her. She was not without her generosity, and was generally well mannered, but even with her kindness, no one held back when discussing rumours. These rumours did not irk her, for they were true - Monica was a divorcee, with a daughter whom she never saw. Some, who had known Monica when she was married, blamed the father, who was - above all else - odd. He wore robes, not a suit, and in the most vibrant of colours. He was also _English_, whereas Monica and her maids and butlers were French. Few blamed Monica for the disappearance of the father and the child, but whoever spoke against her was shunned by society for such an outburst.

In truth, it was in fact Monica's fault, though she stubbornly would not admit it. The whole truth was that The father was a wizard, a secret he had kept for over 15 years. By their daughter's 10th birthday, she began to notice strange occurances that should have been impossible, yet her daughter could perform them, albeit randomly. When the father explained, Monica had scarcely believed it.

Magic.

It was a concept Monica had loather for the good part of her life. She believed there was always a scientific explination, and hated being told otherwise. She could not, however, prove magic was in the least bit scientific, and made no sense. This had lead to arguements, to which she finally decided they were no longer welcome - the father and child moved away to England.

Even now, after two or three years, Monica still sent letters to her daughter, having no clue of what she looked like or how she spoke now she was influenced by english accents. Today was such an occasion, and once again the letterbox opened, a lovely cream envelope cluttering to the ground. There was a small hoot from outside before the letterbox shut and the creature beyond the door flew away. Monica made face of disdain - she dispised owls, or any birds for that matter. Shaking her head, a maid hurried along to pick up the letter and bring it to her mistress's outstretched hand.

_Bonjour, Ma Mere._

_Je suis d'avoir le temps le plus merveilleux de cet été, si je rate tout le monde à l'école terriblement. Peu importe combien de magie-_

The french divorcee glared at the word for a moment - Magic. Her daughter knew better not to mention it.

_-que j'ai, je ne peux pas l'utiliser pendant les vacances, donc je suis très ennuyé. Je vous manque, ainsi, la mère. Il a été au moins trois ans depuis notre dernier a vu l'autre. Peut-être que je pourrais vous voir pendant les vacances de Noël?_

_Tout mon amour,_

_Veronica_

For a moment, Monica watched the letter carefully, as if expecting something, but when nothing happened she shook her head again. Standing, she walked over the the bookcase and slid a side a panel. The compartment behind was filled with letters, ordered by date, all from the same two people. Placing Veronica's last in order, her eyes fell to a pink envelope, still sealed, the handwriting different, yet similar to her daughter's, faded with time. She stood there a while, before closing the panel, and returning to her daily activities.


End file.
